


here in this nowhere

by orphan_account



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Accidental Drug Use, Alternate Universe - Music, Anxiety, Dysphoria, Multi, Roadtrips, non-binary!Trevor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 20:10:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7329103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>and in their city, their city with spires that scratch the sky, in their city their paths converge, three lives crashing into each other, the complete opposite of the big bang.</p>
            </blockquote>





	here in this nowhere

They are scene kids. Wait, no, no, they’re definitely not. Well, I mean, Trevor did go through that phase when he was like fourteen, but that doesn’t count. They are kids, just kids, kids with their own scene, their own place in life that they carved out themselves. They all fit, except for Trevor, who prides himself on the fact that he doesn’t fit anywhere, not even on the gender spectrum, but no one needs to know, no one knows. That’s fine, he’s fine.

Matt is nimble fingers and pressed keys, nothing less than perfect, smooth noise, smooth surface, but an inside with so many intricate workings, he is a piano, he even gets upset when it’s humid much like his treasured instrument, the only difference is that he doesn’t understand himself. He plays, he’s always played, neat and perfect and respectable. Does he know why he plays? No, he doesn’t, but he thinks about it on dark nights when he can’t stop thinking and his breathing is far too slow and far too fast and his mind won’t stop spinning, spinning, spinning, so he flees the comfort of his apartment and scours the streets, an unowned alley cat of the night, shadows long behind him. And this is where he meets Jeremy.

Jeremy is a quick voice, quick words, quick to arms, subtly sub-par in the best of ways, rough like split wood, he has spent his whole life running against the grain. Yeah, yeah, he’s not the best at anything, far from it, but dear God above, he can rap. And he knows. So he does. He does it on street corners, wearing a jacket far too big for him, it’s not his fault that he’s short, blame genetics, blame his parents. But he wears his jacket and he beatboxes and he raps and he was in that one viral video one time where he was bet that he couldn’t rap while doing a handstand, so he did and he won a decent amount of cash and a few million views and an appreciation of all those gymnastics classes he used to take because the video ended with a backflip and everyone said that he looked so. Hot. But then no producers showed up and his door with the slightly broken doorknob didn’t get knocked on by Lady Oppurtunity so it was back to the streets and the fast words, fast thoughts, fast friends. Or rather, friend. And this is where he meets Matt. Matt is the friend.

It’s kind of late but the streets are not empty, instead filled with half-drunk college kids. Oh, and Matt, Matt is there too. He is neither half-drunk nor a college kid and he sticks out, but that’s fine, he always has, he is used to it. He follows the streaming trickle of stumbling people, trying to escape the thoughts,  _ the  _ thoughts, but drunk people walk slowly so his thoughts catch up to him and everything hits him at once. So he stumbles, but he is not drunk and he just keeps walking until somewhere, somehow, he stops in a crowd gathered around someone. This someone is short, wearing an oversized dark green jacket with too many buttons, who needs that many buttons, that’s just ridiculous. It doesn’t register with Matt at first and then it does. This guy is rapping, spitting out words as fast as Matt plays the classics during his concerts and holy fuck it doesn’t make Matt want to run away and cover his ears and calm down and listen to some soothing concerto. He would even go as far to say that he likes it. And he probably hasn’t blinked in long enough so the rapper catches his eyes and winks.  _ Winks _ . Winks without pausing in his tirade and Matt feels strangely connected to the words. It’s all about rebellion and just being and Matt never rebelled, he didn’t go through that phase, he was the ‘perfect teenager’, but these words make him want to throw something. Maybe a fist, maybe a chair, but something needs to be thrown. He settles for throwing a twenty into the guy’s basket when he finishes and everyone is clapping. People start to disperse, drunkenly talking, and Matt feels a flare of anger because they are not talking about the spectacle, the miracle, they just witnessed on these dirty, dirty streets, and they should be, they should be shouting praise to the heavens. Matt turns his eyes back on the rapper who is transferring the green of cash and the glint of coins into the pockets on his far too large jacket, each fastened by brass buttons. That’s why he needed so many buttons, it makes sense now, to Matt at least.

“Hey, rich boy.” The rapper sounds surprisingly different when he’s not rapping, but it’s not a bad different, not at all. “Thanks for your money, I appreciate it.”

“Busking is hard work.” Matt nods and the rapper tilts his head.

“You a busker?” He asks, an accent creeping into his words, settling into the spoken letters like a migrating animal returning to its den after being absent for many seasons. Matt shivers.

“No. I’m not.” Matt shivers again.

“Are you cold? Uh, you can take my jacket.” And before Matt can protest, the green jacket with too many buttons is draped over his shoulders. “You want to get some coffee, rich boy? I’ll pay.”

“No, no, no.” Matt protests, holding up his hands, only having to quickly return them to the collar of the jacket so it doesn’t slide off into the street, the oddly quiet street. “I’m good, but thank you.”

“You think I’m going to let you run off with my jacket? Just like that?” The rapper snaps his fingers, a clear, crisp sound in the blurry unreality that seems to be the fabric of the night in this city. Matt flushes. “Ah, now I’ve offended you. I know how I can make it up to you.”

“Coffee?” Matt offers, weakly, because this man has bested him. Is it correct to say that someone bested you at hospitality? Is that offensive? Matt doesn’t care, but he really kind of does.

“Perfect.” The rapper grins. “I’m Jeremy.”

“Matt.” They shake hands and Jeremy whistles lowly.

“Rough hands.” He comments and Matt shrugs.

“Concert pianist. Got to have some callouses, y’know. Can’t be bleeding out all over the keys.” Matt jokes. “Have to keep up a certain air of professionalism.”

“You’re funny.” Jeremy smiles, so widely, his teeth showing in dim, yellow streetlight. Matt refuses to be a cliche, flat out denies it, but he wants to see Jeremy smile again. They find a small cafe, mostly empty, and its eclectic hodge podge of furniture and decorations shouldn’t welcome Matt, but it does. It suits Jeremy.

As stated before, they become fast friends. One week, more coffee outings and questions and laughter. Two weeks, video games and pizza and more jokes than questions. Three weeks, late night arrivals at each other’s apartments and knowing the answer to questions before they’re even asked. And through all this, their friendship grows, a swelling crescendo in an orchestra, the steady rise of applause echoing off brick walls of building. They are different, so different, but they work so well together, pieces from entirely separate puzzles that fit together without a problem. Four weeks and Matt invites Jeremy to one of his performances. Jeremy protests at first, saying that he’s never going to be able to pay Matt back for the tickets, Matt just rolls his eyes and tells Jeremy that he is the star attraction, idiot, he gets free seats to invite people. So Jeremy agrees to come and he is somewhere in the crowd of well-dressed elites, all laughing fake, practiced laughs and tipping flute glasses of champagne to each other. Matt is standing in the wings, awkward and uncomfortable, constantly re-adjusting his bowtie because it just isn’t straight. He isn’t the star, not yet, and the pre-performance bustle of tech and audio people around him pay him no mind, none at all, until the lights dim and he steps out onto the stage. He searches for Jeremy in the audience, but it is a sea of darkness around him so instead he sits at the piano. Breathes. Plays.

Jeremy finds him when he’s done and congratulates him.

“You did so good.” Jeremy breathes, beautiful in a starch collared tuxedo. “So good. So proffesional.”

“I try.” Matt jokes and Jeremy laughs, not a fake, elitist laugh like the ones that surround them, but a spur of the moment laugh, chock full of emotion. Matt can’t focus on anything but Jeremy, Jeremy, Jeremy.

They go out drinking, not champagne, and Matt isn’t sure what it is, but it gets him so drunk and everything's a blur and Jeremy is drunk too and laughing and laughing and Jeremy is beautiful and pavement beneath his shoes and the door to his apartment and the glare of lights as a switch flicks and the glow-in-the-dark stars Jeremy stuck to his ceiling as a joke a week ago and hands under his shirt and more laughter and laughter and his shirt riding up and kisses and kisses and pure pure oxygen and pure pure Jeremy and laughter and lingering touches and two twin glasses of orange juice on the counter, an outlying pair in the situation at hand.

They wake up in Matt’s kitchen, laid across the floor, pressed against each other, but fully clothed. The sun hasn’t quite risen, but the rays seeping through the curtains of the window above the sink stain the walls orange.

“I think I love you.” Matt breathes and the words swirl upward and are lost in the barely visible dust motes, hanging in the air without a sense of purpose.

“I think I love you, too.” Jeremy says and it takes a second, but Matt grins and then Jeremy grins and they laugh on Matt’s kitchen floor. The moment in time, frozen in amber like a bug’s wings, it is pushed aside, or at least pretended to be forgotten

Matt invites Jeremy to move in two weeks later because Jeremy’s apartment is literally horrible and paint is peeling off the walls.

“You can help with rent.” Says Matt. “We’ll be roommates, it’ll be fun.” So, Jeremy agrees and his things come in cardboard boxes and merge perfectly with the strange order of Matt’s apartment, even though Jeremy’s cats keeps knocking everything over.

A week later, Jeremy asks Matt out.

Their relationship, built on the coffee outings and video game nights and music acting as steel beams, it is not perfect, but it grows and expands and it is more than either of them hoped for.

That is part of the story of two people, these are not the only two people in the city, oh no. There are so many others, just as interesting, just as amazing, just as complicated, but there is only one other who loves music like they do.

Trevor is a sick rhythm, sick beat, sick in the head. Kind of. He is bright colours and neon graffiti on the walls of underground skate parks. He is tall and lanky and some odd, unreplicatable form of art, beauty personified. He is chipped porcelain, even though to others he seems to be a blue china tea set, perfect and ready for use. He is dyed hair and bleach swirling down his sink, but he is happiness and the exact opposite. He is electronic noises and the synthesizers laying half deconstructed in his kitchen as he tries to make better ones. He is rising fame and a name known by six out of ten people, ages sixteen to twenty-six. He’s not famous even though he is, but he makes good music, and people recognize that, respect that, but he has yet to be recognized, yet to be respected. And beneath all this, the four four beat and the tap tap tap of fabricated drums, there is something else, something that he has tried to crush, something that will never be gone. It’s hard for him to accept it, he acknowledges it, but like the owner of a dog that doesn’t know its own strength, he never lets it out to play because in the public eye it would be seen as vicious, loathsome, destructive. Because the truth is he isn’t one hundred percent anything, not a musician, not an artist, not happy, not sad, and definitely not a guy. That’s the one he keeps locked away, the secret he wants no one to know, so no one does. But sometimes he just wants to  _ be _ and he wants to wear that skirt and wear that dress, but he feels like he can’t, so he doesn’t. He wears leggings, things that are close to skirts but not quite, he paints his nails, he dyes his hair a bright purple, and people online say that he’s a fashion icon and he only gets away with stuff like this because he’s famous, but he’s not really, is he? He’s an underground DJ, someone who started in their bedroom with no equipment and no experience, someone who makes music because there is absolutely nothing else for him, he is Zed Direction.

He makes music in his kitchen, using anything he can. What’s that old saying, Native Americans used every kind of the buffalo? Well, Trevor uses every piece of the world that he can cram into his music without it sounding like a disaster. It may not sound like it with his _tap tap tap_ beats and the rise and fall of electronic noises, but he will take any opportunity to make his music sound light. He’s almost died trying to record the sound of rain on his building’s roof before, but he didn’t actually completely die. His kitchen looks more like a laboratory and there are things spread out across every surface, paint and bottles of bubbles and a venus fly trap and wax paper and bottles of water and a broken typewriter and pebbles and anything at all that makes noise because he wants to record everything. He has an album out, sort of, but most of his following is in the clubs and the raves with lights splashed on the walls. He has a Soundcloud though and his music is spread across the internet like wild flowers in a field.

He’s kind of utterly perfect and horrible chaos at the same time, a whirlwind of colours and trends and god forbid, don’t look at his twitter because you will only see memes. He loves memes. He is the kind of person that wears leather leggings on a hundred degree day, but he pairs it with a flowery crop top so he doesn’t die of heatstroke. If he sees a fan on the streets and they stop him for a picture, he always does ridiculous poses. Always. It doesn’t matter where he is, he will do it. One time he did a handstand on top of a bridge and almost fell. He almost falls a lot. He has very little regard for his own life, but he cares immensely about other people's. 

Trevor loves plants. If his kitchen, bathed in eggshell white paint, is full of music, his living room is full of plants. And people say that music helps plants grow, so maybe that’s why Trevor is just so, so good at it. They are everywhere, taking over his home in waves upon waves of green and flowers spilling over the edge of the coffee table. Hectic greenery, natural and perfect, and Trevor is the overlord, though he doesn’t really consider himself the ruler, all he does is water the plants, but the plants worship him in return. All in all, it’s probably the most healthy relationship that Trevor has ever had.

But where does he fit into this story? 

It’s early morning in Matt’s apartment, now Jeremy’s too, and sunlight spills onto the beige walls of the kitchen, glowing a radiant white in the reflected glare. The two inhabitants and sitting across from each other at the table, each doing something different on their respective laptops. Matt is typing out an email, detailing that yes, he is free for a gig on the nineteenth and how much will he get paid, exactly? Jeremy is doing something that is arguably just as important. He’s scrolling through Soundcloud, looking for new music, scroll, scroll, scroll, nothing looks interesting, scroll, scroll, scroll, well, at least this one looks professional, so Jeremy clicks it. An electro pop song fills the air and Matt bangs his knees on the table as he jumps.

“What is this?” Matt presses the heel of his palm to his temple. “God, why? Is that- Is that rain in the background?” He is exactly right.

“I don’t know, I think it’s good.” Jeremy’s fingers are tap tap tapping against the scratched wooden varnish of the table. “I like the rain, makes it sound different.”

“This is- You are a horrible person.” Matt shakes his head, fingers hovering over the keys of his laptop. “I don’t understand the novelty of this.” Jeremy hums in acknowledgement.

“Oh, this guy has nice hair.” Jeremy is scrolling scrolling scrolling through Google Images, looking at pictures of this artist, this musician, and yeah, his bright purple hair really is nice. “And a nice face.”

“I’m sure.” Matt rolls his eyes. 

“And there’s a show later this week.” Jeremy fixes his gaze on Matt. “Matt.”

“Oh, no.” Matt shakes his head, utterly refusing. “I will not go. Never.”

“You literally made me go to that orchestra concert when I had the flu.” Jeremy smirks. “I think you can go to this with your boyfriend.”

“I didn’t know I had the flu!” Matt protests, but he knows that he’s lost the battle. “Fine. But only because I love you! I absolutely hate this music.”

“Aw, I love you too, dear.” Jeremy buys tickets for the both of them. “We’re going to have so much fun. I promise. Maybe I’ll get you to mosh.”

“Oh, fuck no. That’s where I draw the line.” On the same side of the line is drugs, owning birds, tattoos, and eating Cheez-Its. Fuck Cheez-Its, man.

So Jeremy drags Matt to the show two nights later and it is just as insufferable as Matt predicted it to be. There are lights everywhere, yet the whole room is so dark, and there are people laughing and jumping and it just seems like a place that people would take pictures to put on Tumblr. 

“Jeremy, they’re doing drugs!” Matt shakes his boyfriend’s shoulders, gesturing to a group of people standing next to a counter. Jeremy starts to laugh, chest heaving in time with the music. “Jeremy! Cocaine is not a laughing matter! Should we call the police?”

“Matt, that’s Fun Dip! Why do you think they’re licking it off sticks? You don’t lick cocaine!” Jeremy knows much more about drugs than Matt does, but Matt thinks that that’s okay, as long as Jeremy can’t see him blush in the purple lights. “You’re so innocent! If you want to see people doing drugs, you should go out in the back.”

“I’m good, thanks.” Matt blanches as another song starts up, but it sounds exactly the same as the first one, yet everyone cheers. Matt sighs, rolls his eyes, and settles in as much as he can next to the kids doing fake drugs because it’s going to be a long, long night and he might as well watch his boyfriend be happy.

Far too much time has passed when Jeremy finally grabs Matt’s hand again.

“Are you asleep?” Jeremy snorts and Matt notices that it’s much more quiet and the kids that totally weren’t doing drugs - is sugar a drug, though?- are gone, probably to go do caffeine or other lesser drugs. “It’s over, c’mon, man. I want to see if I can talk to this guy.” Jeremy leads Matt through the back exit and Matt wants to protest because Jeremy said that the real drug people were back here and he does not want to see any drug people, thank you very much, but the only person in the back lot is the musician, if he could even be called that, a shock of purple hair glowing oddly in the bad light.

“Sorry, guys, if you wanted weed, you’re out of luck.” He tilts his head, a smile sliding onto his lips in a sideways sort of way. “Steve just left.”

“You do drugs?” Matt manages to get his voice to work before Jeremy can jumpstart his and wow, his respect for this guy is plummeting right now.

“No, no.” The guy shakes his head. “Not my scene, y’know? I just feel like once someone throws up on your pants because he gets too high, well, you kind of know that person. That was Steve, by the way. Steve threw up on my pants.” And so maybe this guy is not the incarnation of Satan inhabiting this Earth that Matt has came to kind of like. 

“I like your music.” Jeremy has found his words and the guy tilts his head upwards, nodding in thanks. “I’m Jeremy, this is Matt.”

“I don’t like your music.” Matt clarifies. “Jeremy dragged me here.”

“Trevor.” The guy laughs like a hundred bells, echoing off of the walls around him. “You seem like a nice person, Matt.”

“Oh, I am.” Matt nods, because he is a nice person. A very nice person. “I just like professional music.”

“I’m pretty much anything but professional.” Trevor admits, looking left and right, like he’s searching for something that’s just out of his line of sight.

“I like your hair.” The words fall out of Jeremy’s mouth too quickly and it’s awkward, but apparently it was exactly the right thing to say because Trevor grins. “Let me buy you a coffee”

“Am I invited to this union of music haters?” Matt rolls his eyes and straightens his jacket, Jeremy’s jacket, the jacket, the green one with too many pockets and too many buttons.

“Excuse you, pretty boy. I love music.” And Matt is pretty sure that even in this bad, yellow light, they can both see the effect of Trevor’s words on him and the rise of red on his cheeks.

“Yes, Matt, you can come. I wouldn’t just leave you here.” Jeremy rolls his eyes and his fingers are tap tap tapping against his wrist because he is excited- or is he nervous?

“I’m sure Matt knows some good 24 hour hipster cafes.” Trevor teases, stooping down to the pavement to pick up a loose stone. “I bet those glasses are fake.”

“He doesn’t wear them during concerts.” Jeremy adds, but he’s joking. Matt can tell by the way he’s smiling, the way his eyes shift.

“That’s only because I memorize the music, Jeremy.” Matt shakes his head, but he’s joking too. Trevor whistles lowly, a clear, crisp sound in the blurry unreality that seems to be the fabric of the night in this city.

“What do you do, then?” Trevor asks, voice holding genuine curiosity and not jokes.

“Concert pianist.” Matt answers and okay, maybe he doesn’t really hate Trevor.

“Dude, that’s like super respectable. Good on you.” Trevor smiles and then Matt smiles and then Jeremy smiles because yes, his plan is working. “But really, I don’t know any like actual cafes. I do know a place that serves coffee, though.”

“Go for it, man. I’ll drive us.” Jeremy shakes his keys in his hand and Trevor chuckles as they lead him to their car.

“Christ, it’s one in the morning?” Matt reads the glowing green clock face as Trevor crams himself into the backseat. “Why the fuck is it so late?”

“Do you go to bed early like suburban white mom? You are totally a suburban white mom.” Trevor laughs as Jeremy starts to drive and wow, Trevor laughs a lot. Matt likes it.

“I’m a suburban white mom, and I take offense to that on behalf of suburban white moms everywhere.” Light from streetlights pools in the car then flickers away as Jeremy talks. “We don’t go to bed early, we put the kids to bed early and then get drunk on red wine.”

“Whatever, Sharon.” Trevor smiles and Matt looks back at him.

“Y’know, you’re music may be terrible, but you do have some skill. I mean, it flows nicely.” Matt can’t decide if he’s complimenting Trevor or not. He might be. He might not be. He’s not very sure.

And this begins an argument that lasts until they leave Denny’s at four AM and it continues as they stand in the parking lot, ignoring streaking headlights from passing cars as they go back and forth.

“You want to sleep at our place?” Matt offers eventually, a spur of the moment decision, but Jeremy isn’t stopping him. “It’s pretty close, and it’s late.”

“Sure.” So they drive to their apartment and Trevor falls asleep almost instantly on their couch.

Matt wakes up in the morning, an absence of Jeremy in the bed next to him, but he’s probably with Trevor, so Matt gets up. He finds Jeremy standing alone in the living room, looking at the empty sofa.

“Did he fucking one night stand us?” Matt asks. “Did he really? We didn’t even sleep together and-? Did he fucking one night stand us?” Jeremy laughs and sits down on the sofa.

“Maybe, but y’know.” He gestures vaguely with his hands. “Whatever.” Matt sits down on the sofa only to jump back up again when the door opens. Trevor pokes his head into the living room, grinning.

“Hey. I just popped out to get you guys some breakfast.” He tosses a paper bag to them which Matt fumbles with but Jeremy catches.

“We thought you did the one night stand thing with us.” Matt admits and Trevor laughs, sitting down on an armchair next to the sofa.

“I only do that with people I sleep with.” Trevor explains, laying across the chair like a cat, legs hanging over the arm in the most relaxed way.

“Nice to know.” Jeremy nods. “Thanks for the breakfast.” So they eat in an unawkward silence and Trevor is tap tap tapping against the fabric of the chair. And then there is a cat in Trevor’s lap and Trevor squeaks.

“What is this?” Trevor touches the cat, hesitantly, as it headbutts his hand.

“A cat.” Matt supplies, helpfully. “His name is Scooter.”

“He loves me.” Trevor whispers as Scooter sits on his chest. “Fuck, I can’t leave now.”

And they become fast friends and Trevor spends much more time at their apartment, using the cat as the excuse. They go through the normal friendship ritual, the pizza, the video games, the coffee, and honestly, it all goes really well. 

“You have a crush on Trevor.” Matt says on one of the few mornings when Trevor isn’t there. Jeremy chokes on his coffee.

“Well, yeah.” Jeremy’s fingers are tap tap tapping on the counter, a habit he picked up from Trevor. “I mean, how couldn’t I? He’s Trevor, for God’s sake. Do you…?”

“Yeah.” Matt breathes. “I don’t hate him anymore. Not really. He’s actually kind of nice. How do you feel about asking him if he wants to be part of this?” And Jeremy smiles and agrees because yes, this is what he wants. 

So they try to drop hints, subtle touches and lingering glances and flirting, what they think is flirting, and Trevor is oblivious, but the only time he leaves is to make music or water his plants and there are plants popping up all over the apartment, and they can’t tell if this means that the flirting is working or not.

Matt leaves one night, he had something to do somewhere and Jeremy and Trevor are just playing Yahtzee on the kitchen counter and laughing. It’s comfortable and easy and this is exactly why Jeremy wants Trevor in on the thing that he and Matt have. So Jeremy kisses Trevor. And then everything blurs together and then Trevor is shouting at him.

“You have Matt! How the fuck could you do this to Matt?! Matt is fucking amazing, he doesn’t deserve this! Don’t pass up Matt for me! I- fuck!” Trevor throws the Yahtzee dice to the floor and they spin with a clatter. It’s a good roll, though. And then Trevor is gone and the door slams behind him and shit, Jeremy has fucked up. So he calls Matt.

“I kissed him.” Jeremy is searching for his car keys, pushing things over in a frenzy.

“Really? How’d it go?” Matt has no idea about the debacle that just went down. 

“Not well, not well. He kind of accused me of cheating on you and then ran away.” Jeremy pushes a stack of books to the floor. 

“Fuck. It’s really raining out here. We should try to find him.” And Matt is smart, smart, smart, and Jeremy is trying to find his car keys so he can go after him. 

“I know, I know! I’m looking for my keys, I can’t find my keys, Matt.” Jeremy is on the brink of panicking because this is not how it was supposed to go.

“Coffee table.” Matt says and he’s right because the keys are on the coffee table and how is Matt so calm? “I’m in the grocery a few streets over, okay? Come pick me up and we’ll look together.”

So Jeremy picks Matt up minutes later and he’s not quite panicking anymore and Matt is still calm as lighting throws itself to the ground and rain thunders down around them.

“Where would he go?” Jeremy asks half to himself, half to Matt, and he blames himself so much.

“He mentioned that he just ran when he got upset, remember?” Matt is still calm, how can he be so calm, how, Jeremy needs to know. “So, let’s drive around. We’ll find him.” So Jeremy drives and there is panic roiling beneath his skin because what if Trevor isn’t safe, what if Trevor is dead, what if Trevor hates them both? “Is that him?” Matt points out the window to a figure huddled under a tree in the park beneath the entirety of the dripping sky. “C’mon.” So, together they breach the blustery weather, howling wind and screaming sky, and they hurry across the park and the slick, slick grass until they’re both stooping next to Trevor, hair plastered to his face with tears and rain.

He sobs.

“Hi.” Matt puts a hand on Trevor’s shoulder and thank the fucking lord for Matt. “You’re okay, alright? What’s up?”

“It’s not- It’s not worth it.” Trevor’s voice is nearly drowned in the torrent around them. 

“I’m sorry.” Jeremy offers, voice just as soft.

“Look, Trevor, Jeremy isn’t cheating on me. If he was, I’d fuck him up.” Trevor laughs a watery laugh. “We’ve talked about this, and if you’ll have us, we’d like you in on whatever the fuck we’re doing with our lives. If I’m mad about anything, it’s that I didn’t get to kiss you first, I promise. What do you say?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Trevor takes a shuddering breath. “I’d like- I’d like that. And you can kiss me now.” So Matt kisses Trevor and lighting doesn’t flash over head like in the movies. They break apart.

“I’m sorry.” And as the words fall from Jeremy’s mouth, that’s when the lightning strikes. 

“It’s not your fault.” Trevor breathes and fucking hell, this is just like the movies, the damp shirt sticking to Trevor’s back, it’s white and every single freckle is visible through the cloth, the hair in his face, water dripping into his eyes, Jeremy with his hands outstretched, beckoning to Trevor come here, come here, and there’s Matt with a perfectness make up artists strive to achieve, rain running in rivulets down his neck, down his arm, down his hands, until they drip down onto Trevor’s throat where his fingers touch. “I was scared.”

“I was, too.” And now it’s Jeremy and Trevor’s turn to kiss and the lightning doesn’t strike again, but the rain is pounding harder and harder and falling in sheets like glass. It’s not perfect, of course not, there has to be at least one flaw in this movie screenshot, and Jeremy gets rainwater in his mouth.

“Y’know, speaking of being scared.” Matt chimes in, voice in perfect cadence with the rain and clashing branches above them. “The first thing they teach you about being caught in a thunderstorm is to not be under a tree. Because, you know, the whole death thing kind of makes it a little bit unsafe. We should probably leave before we die.” The branches creak and shift.

“My apartment is just around the corner.” Trevor assures them, so they pile into Jeremy’s car, and they drive there. Well, Matt drives there, Trevor has curled up against Jeremy in the back seat. It’s kind of sweet, but they both look kind of like drowned rats, completely drenched.

Trevor flicks the lights on as soon as they get into his apartment, illuminating everything like a constantly recurring lightning strike. It’s pretty, clean and sleek and nothing like Trevor, who ducks away before reappearing with huge towels, throwing them to Jeremy and Matt.

“Don’t drip on my floors.” Trevor stands in a puddle and there is more water dripping from his clothes, drip, drip, drip, he must be joking. “C’mon, kitchen. I’ll make you guys hot chocolate.”

“I can’t believe we’ve never been in your apartment before.” Jeremy says, rubbing the towel between his hands. It’s getting slightly creepy.

“No one’s ever been in here, but me. And maybe some ghosts.” The lights choose this exact moment, the split second in between Trevor’s words, to flicker, flicker, before shining on. “Ignore that, it’ll be better for all of us.” And so he leads the two -what are they? Boyfriends? Partners? Friends?- into the kitchen.

The kitchen looks a lot more like Trevor, chaotic, but in an almost invisible order. There are rocks strewn over the counters and small bowls of water and microphones that are far too close to the water for being electronic and a venus fly trap in the corner and Trevor picks his way through it all perfectly, stepping upon a practiced path. 

“Sit anywhere.” Trevor opens the cabinets, everything is perfectly labelled and square and neat, a stark contrast to the state of the countertops and other surfaces. “I try to keep places to sit clear of things. I mean, I try, but I think I try pretty well.”

“What is this stuff?” Jeremy asks, staring at the venus flytrap sitting contentedly in its pot. He reaches out, just to touch it, just to stroke its leaves, and it snaps at him. “And who is this?”

“It’s my music stuff. Try not to move anything. Please. It’s all kind of important. For my music.” Trevor laughs awkwardly and his cheeks flush red. “This is what I do when I’m not around you.” He puts on the electric kettle because of course Trevor has an electric kettle, he probably couldn’t function without one judging by the copious boxes of tea very nearly spilling from his cabinets. “Oh, and that’s… A plant. I don’t know, I use the noise in my music? Stop shaking your head at me, Matt.” Matt pauses in the shaking of his head and stares at Trevor’s back, how did he know?

“It doesn’t have a name?” Matt gasps. “How could you, Trevor? Everything living should have a name.” Matt reaches out to stroke the plant and it does not snap at him, just seems to relax into his touch. Jeremy glares. “Name it, Trevor. Name it.”

“Ferdinand.” Trevor says, quickly. “I’m not taking any chances here with my child. They will grow up without the gender binary! Because fuck that! My child shouldn’t have to go through that.”

“Ferdinand like the gay bull Ferdinand?” Jeremy clarifies and Trevor places two mugs of hot chocolate carefully amid the mass of objects on the counter. 

“Obviously.” Trevor has cinnamon on his fingers, how do you get cinnamon on your fingers when you’re making hot chocolate? “What other gay kids book character can I name my non-gender conforming plant child after?” It is quite in the kitchen silence and Trevor’s drain is dripping, drip, drip, drip, and he finally realizes that the water is falling, so he turns it off all the way. It’s not uncomfortable, not at all, and Jeremy keeps trying to pet Ferdinand, who is slowly warming up to him. “Do you guys want to sleep over?” Matt chokes on his drink. “No, you know what I mean. It’s late and the least I could do.” So they agree and slowly yet quickly migrate into Trevor’s living room which is… Different, to say the least.

“What the fuck, Trevor?” Jeremy pauses in the threshold, observing the greenery of leaves that covers almost everything. “At least tell me that you’ve named all of these.”

“Of course I have!” Trevor has never sounded so offended in his entire life. “I name every plant I get. Ferdinand was a fluke, okay? These are all named and content and they love me. And I’m proud to say that my plants are envied by Mrs. Beasley next door, so you can shut up. I’m respected. Go the fuck to sleep.”

“Do I get to sleep next to Suzanne?” Matt pokes at a succulent on the coffee table. Trevor huffs.

“I would honestly be more annoyed if that one wasn’t named Suzanne. Yes, you can sleep next to Suzanne.” Trevor bites his lip and looks at the blanket of plants over everything, his plants. “Just, don’t hurt them, yeah? They- They mean a lot to me.”

“Of course not.” Jeremy smiles because he would never never do anything to intentionally hurt Trevor, no, no, no, he wants him to be happy and smile and he feels bad enough already. “Can I sleep next to Harriet?”

“That’s Maurice, you fuck. Leave Maurice out of this.” Trevor tosses them a few blankets. “Now fucking sleep. I will kill you if you keep me up.” Jeremy falls asleep as soon as the lights are turned off, but Matt lingers in the waking world for a few minutes, silently laughing to himself because how did he get his hands on these two loveable idiots?

The sun creeps through Trevor’s windows, seeping through the curtains that were purely meant for show in the first place. Matt is still amazed at how many plants Trevor has, how does he take care of them all? It seems overwhelming, even in the honeyed half light. There is noise coming from the kitchen, oil bubbling, Trevor’s voice, something cracking -Eggs, maybe?-, so Matt stands, folds the checkered blanket that definitely doesn’t belong in Trevor’s apartment, and steps quietly into the kitchen, careful not to wake Jeremy. He doesn’t get all the way into the kitchen though, not at all, he gets caught in the doorway between the tile and the hardwood flooring, watching Trevor glow gold next to the stove top. And Trevor is singing, words and words and words, and Matt is transfixed because if Jeremy can rap with the fast words and quick thoughts and rapidfire, rapidfire, and be amazing at it, then Trevor can sing with slow rises and gradual descents and casual, casual, and make it be beautiful. This is what he’s doing now, voice dipping up and down and up perfectly, and Matt might not care for Trevor’s music, but God damn it, this man can sing. He’s singing some song, it sounds like pop, but it also sounds like rebellion, like Jeremy’s rap in the streets, oddly familiar and so, so different. Is this how he is fated to fall in love? With the music first and then the people tumbling after? Maybe, maybe, he already loves Trevor, but he realizes it as Trevor sings in the kitchen during dawn, a songbird not quite comfortable in flaunting itself in the full light of day, it is beautiful. He is beautiful. And then he turns and smiles.

“You’re beautiful.” Matt blurts out, he doesn’t mean to, he has next to no filter in the mornings. “Hi, beautiful.” His attempt to make the situation less awkward fails, fails miserably.

“Hi.” But Trevor is still smiling so maybe he didn’t quite fail after all. “You feeling alright? You didn’t catch a cold from all the rain?”

“You were in the rain for so much longer than I was.” Matt rolls his eyes, this man is ridiculous. “You need any help?”

“If you don’t mind helping me with the production of my heathen music.” Trevor grins and his fingers are tap, tap, tapping, against his wrist, like his pulse is being mirrored in the beat.

“You’re recording your music?” Matt questions, and as far as he can see, there are just as many microphones as there were yesterday, but Trevor’s laptop is on the counter and the microphones are in different places, so maybe he’s telling the truth. “Do you normally sing in your music?” Trevor blushes, he down to Earth blushes, and Matt’s heart doesn’t flutter, Trevor isn’t cute, nope, no, not at all.

“Oh, no, I don’t sing in my music. Not usually. I’ll do a few backing vocal tracks here and there, but…” Trevor shrugs. “It’s in the background, every noise right now is, but I isolate the audio and remove it, so it’s fine. Sounds better that way.”

“But you should.” Matt drags his fingertips across the counter, surprised at the lack of dust because it seems like Trevor is never here and always at their apartment, when does he have time to clean? “Your singing is good. I like it.”

“Thanks.” Trevor snorts and does something, taps a few keys on his laptop. He could be blogging and Matt would never know. “But I can’t really change my label now, y’know? I like what it’s grown up to be.”

“Think about it.” Matt advises, he’s the best at advice. Okay, maybe not the best ever, but definitely the best out of the three of them. “I’m sure if you asked your fans, most of them would probably want to hear it.”

“There’s no room for democracy in art.” Trevor is quoting something, Matt can tell with the way his voice hangs, a monotone, but wistful, respectful. Trevor turns towards the light, bent and forced through the glass window panes, and there is something different in his eyes today, something that Matt can’t quite place. “That’s Picasso. I agree. Like, I don’t know. It’s a thing, isn’t it? A proper dilemma. I don’t want to change my music because my music is just my music, but it’s so much more. It’s me, the cloth I’m cut from, but it’s also just noise I make when I’m lonely or happy or whatever.  I could change it, if I really wanted to, there’s nothing stopping me.” Trevor is getting dangerously close to monologue territory, but Matt just listens. “But if I already, like, sing and shit in my spare time, then it’s already part of my music, right? Just a part that I don’t flaunt. I don’t know, it’s hard, it’s too hard for something so insignificant. I want it to stop, but then I don’t want that at all.” His fingers cease the tap, tap, tapping on the countertop, something Matt didn’t even notice until it was absent, it’s become so ingrained in his mind, and his fingers drift in an odd quickness, patting the pockets of the jeans Trevor slept in, he’s looking for something, what is he searching for, what does he need? Whatever it is, Trevor doesn’t find it, his pockets are empty, and he turns back to face Matt, resting the back of his head on the cupboards above the sink. “Fuck. Fuck, man, I don’t know what I’m doing. What am I even trying to do? This isn’t- This isn’t what I wanted to do at first. And what if I just stop? What if I can’t write anymore?”

“You won’t.” Matt breaks his silence to comfort this man that seems so close, so close to crying, so close to breaking, so close to Matt, close enough that if Matt reached out his hand, he would brush Trevor’s shoulder, but he doesn’t. “I promise, you won’t.”

“This is stupid. I’m sorry.” Trevor is checking his pockets again, patting them down, but there is still nothing in them, an obvious lack of whatever he’s looking for in the moment. “I’m sorry. I just, I go a bit mental sometimes. I’m okay, though, I don’t, like, spiral.” He mimes it, swirling his finger in the air with a low whistling noise. “Never have, not how I work. It’s sudden, shit like this, so I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get all fucking weird with you. I’m okay, I really am.” Matt doesn’t want to doubt this, but in the back of his mind, he does. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” Matt shakes his head and the light catches his face, glowing and pale. “You didn’t do anything wrong. And, I mean, by your standards, I’m a bit mental, too. I have anxiety, it’s not that bad, I can function without meds and everything, but sometimes it gets bad. It’s how I met Jeremy, actually. I couldn’t sleep and I had a panic attack in the middle of a sidewalk and I didn’t want to hold people up, so I just started walking and I ended up where he was. Trust me, Trevor, Jeremy and I, well, we’re not the most neurotypical people you’ll ever meet. Probably really far from it. You’ll fit in fine.” And Trevor smiles, sweet and whole and lovely, brighter than the light through the windows, because he himself is the sun.

“Do you want to help, though?” And just like that, just like that they’re back on music, even though the eggs on the oven have long since burned, completely inedible, only suitable now to be used as gravel in a driveway. Matt nods, a quick dip of his head. “Alright, c’mere, I’ll show you what to do.” So Matt helps Trevor record noises and sounds and helps layer them together into a new song. Matt knows that it has lyrics, Trevor was singing them under his breath while they were listening to it on his laptop, but the final for public version has no lyrics, no voice in between the clicks and taps and noises. It works, though, even if Matt absolutely hates it, he can put up with it for Trevor, he can put up with anything for Trevor, but he does make a mental not to get noise cancelling headphones the next time he goes to the store.

They are in an odd point of stasis, not gaining ground and not slipping back. Since that night, the rainy night and the confessions, since everything that happened in that small, small amount of time, they don’t talk about it, don’t bring it up again. Sure, they spend more time with Trevor, if that was even possible, and they spend more time at his apartment, slowly learning the names of all the plants, but they don’t kiss again. Both Matt and Jeremy have absolutely no idea where they stand with him. They made out in the rain and Matt said that he wanted Trevor in the relationship, but the train went off the rails after that. Well, not maybe went off the rails, but it definitely ground to a slow and agonizing halt. Matt and Jeremy have been just that,  _ Matt and Jeremy _ , for a while now, almost since they met, and then Trevor was thrown into the ring.  _ Matt and Jeremy _ could so, so easily become  _ Matt and Jeremy and Trevor _ , that’s what they want it to become. Matt and Jeremy are boyfriends, support, they love each other, but they love Trevor, too, even if they haven’t talked about it. Well, not with Trevor, at least, but they talk about it alone.

“Does he hate us?” It’s late and it’s dark and Matt’s words are barely audible.

“I don’t think so. I mean, he still hangs out with us, right?” Jeremy is reassuring himself just as much as he is comforting Matt, and he doesn’t know if that’s good or bad. 

“Yeah.” Matt rests his head against Jeremy’s collarbone, fingers brushing over the heartbeat murmuring just beneath the cloth and his skin. “We should talk to him, though.” Jeremy tilts his head back, resting it against the back of the sofa, watching Trevor’s chest rise and fall as he sleeps, curled in on himself, in one of their armchairs. 

“Soon.” Jeremy promises and Trevor shifts in his sleep. “Soon.”

Soon is not the next day, nor the next day, nor the day after that, but it’s a lazy Sunday morning with clouds in the sky and the sun perfectly round, egg yolk yellow against a grey backdrop. Trevor lets himself into their apartment at five in the morning, he stole a key from Matt at one point, but he doesn’t mind. Trevor makes them both breakfast, toast with fresh avocados that he just bought -Where do you buy avocados in the middle of the night?- and eggs because it just seems like an egg kind of day.

“We should go for a walk.” Trevor suggests as they eat, cutlery clicking against porcelain plates. “It’s a nice day. Plus, we haven’t like, gone anywhere in a while.”

“Speak for yourself.” Jeremy snorts. “Matt and I go places. I think the only time you ever go out is to come over here.”

“And buy avocados.” Matt adds, staring at the avocado on his toast. “Seriously, where did you get these?”

“My secrets will stay secrets.” Trevor smirks and he drums his fingers on the table, tap, tap, tapping. “C’mon, let’s go out somewhere. Please? There’s a new outdoor art exhibit in that park near the good coffee place, I’ll even buy you guys coffee.”

“Wow, if I wasn’t convinced before, I sure am now.” Matt rolls his eyes. “Of course we’ll go with you, Trevor. Besides, I think your fans are starting to think that you’re dead.”

“I still put up music!” Trevor protests, peeling an orange that he pulled from his jacket pocket. Matt doesn’t bother to ask why the orange was where it was, just ignores it. 

“But you’re never seen outside!” Jeremy gasps, bringing his hands to his cheeks. “The music is put up by an imposter! I knew it!”

“Shut up.” Trevor flicks a piece of orange peel at Jeremy. “I’m fine. And alive. Plus, no one can replicate my music, it’s one of a kind.”

“There’s a reason for that.” Matt mumbles, dodging another piece of orange peel. “Fine! Fine, we’ll stop. But you do need to go in the sun more, you’re pale as fuck.”

“Are you kidding me? I need to keeps up this vampire-esque thing I have going on.” Trevor gestures to the black clothes, black hair, pale skin. “I think it’s going pretty well.” Jeremy blinks and leans closer to Trevor, who just blinks back, like a morse code conversation neither of them can understand. Jeremy leans back, returning to his normal stance.

“You’re wearing makeup.” It’s not a question, not an accusation, a statement, and Jeremy smiles an odd half-smile. “It looks nice, you should wear it more often.” And now that Matt looks, really looks, he can see it too. The faint dusting of pink just beneath his eyebrow, the line of black, perfectly curved around his eye, pale, pale lipstick, and it looks good, makes Trevor look oddly inhuman, a perfect kind of frailty and oddity. 

“You’re really good at it.” Matt says, because he is, he is very good at it. “Much better than me, anyway. I used to have to do everyone’s makeup in theatre in high school. Luckily, you couldn’t really tell anything was wrong with it under the lights, but damn, it was bad. Did you do theatre stuff, Trevor?”

“No, I was never cool enough.” Trevor shakes his head. “Theatre was full of the popular druggie kids. I was… Not that, to put it simply. I did, however, go through, like, an attempt at being scene for six months. I honestly didn’t even like it, I just wanted to wear the makeup with slightly less judgement. All the girls asked me to do their makeup in French class.” 

“I totally thought you would’ve been a theatre kid, you have a flair for the dramatic.” Jeremy says and Trevor tosses another piece of orange peel at him before pulling another orange out of his jacket. “If you weren’t a theatre kid, what were you?”

“Band nerd.” Trevor winces and the glitter in his eyeshadow barely catches the light, shimmering. “I played the trumpet. First chair, though, so.”

“Dude, no. I played trumpet.” Matt says and he did, he was good at it, and then he reasoned with himself that he’d never make enough money playing the trumpet, so he focused on the piano full time, but he was better at that anyway.

“Me too.” A smile slowly dawns on Jeremy’s face. “Guys… We’re the trumpet trio!”

“That’s horrible.” Trevor shakes his head, his fingernails are once again tap, tap, tapping on the table. “But I love it.”

“It’s kind of terribly admirable.” Matt admits. Trevor pulls another orange from his pocket and Matt’s facade cracks. “I fucking give up, where are you getting all these oranges from? Your pockets definitely aren’t big enough.” Trevor blinks and sets down the orange in his hands, it rolls slightly on the table, knocking against his plate. Trevor reaches into one of his pockets with both hands, and keeps an impeccably straight face as he places a dozen more oranges on the table. “Alright, I’m done. No more questioning your fruit habits.”

“What about these avocados, though?” Jeremy interjects, looking at his plate thoughtfully.

“Don’t encourage him!” Matt waves his hand in Jeremy’s face. “You’ll just give him more power!”

Somehow, eventually, Matt manages to get Trevor to put every orange he has on the table. It’s quite a sizeable pile and both Matt and Jeremy are impressed. And then Trevor puts a grapefruit on the table and Jeremy falls out of his chair, laughing. And then somehow, eventually, they finally leave the house to go see that damn art exhibit in the park.

Admittedly, the sculptures aren’t bad, they’re pretty good, just like the iced mint coffee that Jeremy took from Trevor, much to the dismay of the latter. The sun catches on an amalgamation of stained glass, casting rainbows in curves along the ground and across their shoes. 

“Excuse me?” Someone asks behind them and they turn, looking at the small girl with glasses that seem too big for her face. “You’re Zed Direction, right?”

“That I am!” Trevor is grinning so widely that it looks like he might break, and this split second is when both Matt and Jeremy realize that they’ve never seen Trevor meet a fan, and it’s already kind of amazingly adorable. “Call me Trevor, though. What’s your name?”

“Lacey.” Lacey smiles, Trevor’s smile is infectious, and her glass slide down her nose. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today, honestly. Or any day, actually, but I really love your music.”

“Thank you! And sorry for the absence lately, I’ve been hanging out with these guys. Lacey, meet Jeremy and Matt!” Trevor points to them and Lacey waves.

“Can I, like- Do you mind if I get one of those special pose pictures with you?” Lacey asks, scuffing the toe of her shoe on the pavement.

“Yeah, of course.” Trevor runs a hand through his hair, he looks so excited. “We should move over here, though, so we don’t break any of the sculptures. That would probably be pretty expensive.” Trevor herds them into a more grassy expanse of the park. “Oh, wait, guys, let me lay across your shoulders! Please, please, please, it’ll be cool.”

“Fine.” Jeremy sighs, dramatically. “I guess it might look cool.” Trevor beckons to Lacey to come over as he somewhat awkwardly climbs up Jeremy, but eventually they’re in position and Trevor’s arms are wrapped around Matt’s neck to keep him from falling and the picture is snapped. Lacey thanks the trio and starts to walk away, only to come back.

“Trevor, I really like your makeup. It looks nice.” Lacey smiles and Trevor brings a hand up to touch his eyelid, surprised. “No! Don’t mess it up! But, really. It suits you.”

“Thanks.” Trevor smiles. “If you tweet the picture, I’ll find it, yeah?”

“Oh, of course.” Lacey pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “My friends are going to be so jealous.” As she disappears back into the sculptures, Matt groans.

“I can’t believe you have a teenage following.” Matt shakes his head. “What have the young people come to these days?”  
“Amazing people with amazing music taste.” Trevor shoots back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I love them all, so fight me, Matthew. I will defeat you with my army of teens!”

It’s roughly one a.m., if the clock on the wall bathed in television light is anything to go by, but all the clocks in the apartment say different times, so who knows? The television flickers, some old movie, horrible in any and every way possible, is playing, it’s the only thing on in the room, in the darkness, save Trevor’s phone grasped tightly in his hands. The man onscreen is in the middle of a triumphant monologue about how he single handedly saved this woman when Trevor giggles, a high noise in the night.

“What’s funny?” Matt asks, glad for any distraction from this horrible movie, he has no idea why they’re watching it. Trevor shifts to face him, pulling the afghan blanket up to his chest.

“That girl from earlier, Lacey? Well, I found the picture she put up on Twitter.” Trevor pauses for a second, peering at something on his phone. “Well, everyone that saw it thinks that we’re boyfriends.”

“Aren’t we?” Matt asks and Trevor looks up from his phone, focusing on the movie reflection in Matt’s glasses.

“I don’t know. Are we?” Trevor asks in return and Matt blinks.

“I don’t know. Are we?” They stare at each other for a moment longer before turning to Jeremy who’s sitting next to Matt, legs crossed beneath a bowl of popcorn.

“What do you want me to say?” Jeremy looks bewildered. “Yes?”

“Cool.” Trevor returns to his phone, scroll, scroll, scrolling. Matt looks at Jeremy, Jeremy just shrugs. “I’m glad. This is nice, I like this.”

And so that’s how it goes, an utterly simple exchange, and Trevor falls asleep a few minutes later, smiling softly in soft glow light.

Trevor comes over a few days later, carrying limp plastic bags covered in drops of rain. He lets himself into the apartment, it’s become a habit, he has the key on his keyring.

“Hey, guys.” Trevor walks into the kitchen and is acknowledged by Jeremy with a flick of his pen, he’s trying to write a rap, Trevor thinks, he has the notebook he always uses when he writes his raps.

“Hey, Trevor.” Matt is typing at his laptop, the only thing he does is respond to important emails, it’s his main purpose in life, his only mission. “What do you have?”

“Hair dye.” Trevor grins, runs a hand through his hair, small drops of water fall and land upon the counter, resting there. “Y’know, the purple is getting a bit faded. And I’ve got bright green, if either of you want to do it.” Jeremy groans, dropping his pen against the paper, ink spreading haphazardly.

“I’ll do it, man. I’ve always wanted to do that. Kind of.” Jeremy rubs his eyes, he’s so tired, he just needs a change, that’s all. “I don’t have any writing ideas right now, anyway.”

“I will not do that.” Matt volunteers, reading the back of the dye package. “But I will definitely watch and like, help out, but I feel like Trevor is already pretty good at this.”

So, Jeremy and Trevor dye their hair, the colours of two ends of the spectrum, bleach washing down the sink in whorls, colours following soon after, trailing dye across the metal surface in an unintentional art piece that looks so incredibly good. Trevor ends up getting purple and green all over his jeans, why did he choose today to wear white jeans? He’s probably the only person in the world to actually wear white jeans unironically.

“It looks good.” Trevor assures Matt, rubbing his hair dry with a towel. “Avant-garde, kind of. Perfect for me though. Can I maybe change into some of your clothes, though? I don’t want to get dye all over your furniture, I’d just  _ dye _ inside.”

“I despise you.” Jeremy shakes his head, newly green hair catching the light and almost glowing. “You are a horrible person and you will rot in hell. I actually can’t believe you.”

“I’m not going to be able to be seen in public with you two anymore.” Matt groans, rubbing Jeremy’s hair, fluffy and light and green. “People are going to think you’re trying to convert me to the punk religion.”

“Oh, as if.” Trevor rolls his eyes. “I only welcome people to the punk religion if they want to be in it. People flock to me. Alright, boys, I’m going to go get change.” Trevor disappears into the hallway and Jeremy smiles at Matt, the cotton candy sweet grin saved for the people he loves, wide and grinning and so happy.

“God, I’ve got ideas now!” Jeremy says and he sounds so excited, like there is energy in him, contained just beneath his skin.

“It’s that bleach.” Matt clicks his tongue. “It’s just soaked into your mind, Jeremy. It’s going to kill you. Jeremy. The bleach will make you die.”

“That’s- That’s not true.” Jeremy shakes his head. “That can’t be true. It’s not, though. Right?”

“No, it’s not true.” Matt hands Jeremy his notebook and Jeremy flips it open, instantly scrawling down barely readable words in lines and lines and lines. “The bleach won’t kill you. I don’t think.” Jeremy pauses in his writing and glares up at Matt. “Fine, fine! I promise that it won’t kill you.” 

“Hey, guys.” Trevor slides back into the kitchen, socks on tile flooring, and he catches himself against the counter, steadying himself, realigning himself in his own orbit around Jeremy and Matt. He’s wearing a skirt, black with white flowers, it’s pleated and it falls just above his knees. His black shirt is slipping off of his shoulder and he looks like a teenaged death, almost pastel, but fierce, like he could take anyone’s soul at any minute. His hair falls into his eyes, he is a lovely image, smiling and happy in knee high black socks and a skirt of all things, his purple hair glows in the light and his smile falters, Jeremy and Matt are still looking at him.

“Where did you even find that?” Matt asks because he simply can not recall neither him nor Jeremy ever owning a skirt. Also, how was Trevor wearing knee high socks under skinny jeans? Like a lot of things with Trevor, Matt decides that it’s easier not to know.

“It’s my sister’s.” Jeremy explains. “She accidentally left it with me, like, two years ago. I had totally forgot about it.”

“Well, nothing of your’s fits me!” Trevor pats down the skirt, playing with the hem. “Do you- Do you not like it? Does it not look good? I mean, I can change if you really don’t want me to wear it, I’m sure I can find something else.”

“No, no!” Matt reassures him, quickly. “It looks good. On you. You look good.”

“It’s super cute.” Jeremy agrees and Trevor smiles. “You should wear more skirts.”

“I wear them more when I’m alone.” Trevor says. “There’s the whole gendered clothes bullshit in the world and I… Don’t need that, I guess? I don’t know.” He doesn’t know, not at all, his world is quicksand and crumbling cliffs and there is nowhere for him to get away, no safe ground for him to stand on, everything is changing and the only constants, the only things that aren’t a fucking variable, the only symbols of reassurance, are Jeremy and Matt. 

They spend the rest of the night watching shitty movies and Trevor’s world quakes around him, but he is wrapped in thick blankets and the arms of Matt and Jeremy and they are asleep, chests rising and falling, just out of sync, just out of time. Trevor stays awake, listening to the ambient noises, the background, and falls asleep with his boyfriends draped across him in an odd version of safety, of protection, but it is his version and they are his and it works.

Trevor stays barricaded in his apartment for the next few days, working and working and making music because he has to, he has deadlines, he has another album coming out, and Matt and Jeremy come by every so often to check up on him and his plants and to make sure that he’s been eating. He has been, when he gets the time. His kitchen is in a constant state of disarray, no more order in chaos, pure confusion, things thrown into every corner, shoved wherever they can fit, and Trevor flits around it all, weightless, working so hard. Matt doesn’t like his music, but God damn, he can respect the effort it takes.

And then Trevor shows up at their apartment at six thirty in the morning, a backpack slung over his shoulder, haphazardly stabbed with pins, boldly proclaiming labels and views and bands that Trevor likes. Trevor doesn’t look put together, hair messy and going every which way, blue skinny jeans and a too big shirt that’s a slightly different shade of blue, what he himself calls a travesty. There are bags under his eyes and he’s so, so pale, but that’s probably the effect of working nonstop for four days.

“Hey.” Trevor says, sliding his hand up and down the strap of his backpack. “Are you busy for the next two weeks?”

“Uh, no?” Matt offers. “We’re free, I believe. Why, what’s up?” 

“Let’s go on a roadtrip.” Trevor’s fingers drum against the counter, tap, tap, tapping. “I need to go, need to leave this fucking city. I can’t be here right now, guys, I can’t. It’s- It’s trapping me and I need somewhere to go.”

“Are you okay?” Jeremy puts his hands on Trevor’s shoulders, steadying him. Trevor smiles, smally.

“Yeah.” He says, softly, voice gentle and thoughtful and introspective. “Yeah, I’m fine, I really am. I do this sometimes, after I finish a lot of work. New place, new ideas, yeah? Just helps me unwind, think about shit.”

“We’ll come.” Matt declares, he is still worried about Trevor, but he is so in love and he will do anything for this tall boy. “Let us pack our bags and then we’ll go.”

And once they’re in the car, Trevor’s legs propped up on the dashboard and one of Jeremy’s many CDs in the player, they decide that they’re going to drive to the west coast.

It’s a drive, and they take it in shifts, and they sleep in bad motels decorated with cute paintings done by the owner’s five year old son and they drive so much, the roads are endless, but their paths have all converged into one. 

It’s nighttime and Matt and Trevor are sitting on the still warm hood of the car and Jeremy is curled up in the backseat, asleep. The sky is stretched above them, stars spread out like butter on toast, and the sky is purple like Trevor’s hair, and the highway is oddly empty, but it’s late anyway. Matt glances at Trevor, who’s sitting with his legs crossed, fingers tapping on his knees.

“You okay?” Matt asks, he’s worried, he’ll never not be worried about Jeremy and Trevor, they’re his boys, he loves them more than he loves himself. Trevor tilts his head further upwards, studying the stars and the low-hung moon.

“I’m… I don’t know.” A car passes by, tail lights fading into the distance with a rush of wind. “I want to be. God, I want to be. I have you and I have Jeremy, I have no reason not to be.”

“Everyone’s feelings are valid.” Matt assures him. “I… I had depression in high school and I had straight A’s. I had friends even if I wasn’t popular and I was the sole piano player in our school orchestra. And then my parents found out I was gay and it spiraled. As soon as I finished, I ran away and lived with some friends until I got back on my feet.”

“I’m glad you got away.” Trevor says, quietly. “It’s hard to break away from people.”

“Are you okay, Trevor?” Matt asks again and Trevor bites his lip.

“Don’t think I’m a guy.” He mutters, keeping his eyes trained upwards. “Not all the way. Trying to figure it out.”

“Hey.” Matt presses himself up against Trevor’s side. “It’s okay, not everyone has to be one hundred percent sure of their identity. Not a lot of people are, actually. You know I love you, right?” The words slip from his mouth unbidden and they hang in the air, in the darkness, in the summer heat next to the highway and Trevor smiles.

“I love you, Matt.” Trevor kisses Matt gently and the last of the heat from the engine fades into the air and Trevor’s fingers are tap, tap, tapping against Matt’s skin in a false heartbeat rhythm. “Let’s go to sleep.”

In the yellow light of dawn, Trevor smiles and he is comfortable in his surroundings and Jeremy’s fingers are tap, tap, tapping on the steering wheel as he drives.

They stop at a farmer’s market in the middle of a Californian nowhere and everyone is so sweet and nice and they have avocados on sale and Trevor wants to buy all of them.

“You can’t buy all of them.” Jeremy argues as Trevor fawns over the fruit. “We have nowhere to put them. And you can’t all of them quickly enough.”

“You underestimate me.” Trevor smirks. “Fine, fine, I’m getting oranges, then.”

“I’m going to go see if they have any apples.” And Matt disappears into the rows of stalls and vendors.

“Does he know apples aren’t in season?” Jeremy asks and Trevor shrugs.

“Let him look, he might find something cool. C’mon, eat these oranges with me.” Trevor leads Jeremy out of the market maze. 

They sit together in that same nowhere, it seems like a place of magic and fairytales and nothing is quite real in this dusty, lovely expanse. Trevor’s cheeks are sunkissed, light freckles dusting his face, and the oranges glow in his hands like miniature suns. They sit hand in hand, jeans covered in dust, and lizards scuttle over rocks underneath the never ending sky. It’s beautiful.

“I love you.” Trevor breathes and the air swirls in turmoil, in hesitance.

“I love you, too.” Jeremy smiles and the air settles back along the ground.

Here in this nowhere, they sit, and Matt finds them resting against each other and he joins them. Here in this nowhere, there is perfection. Here in this nowhere, there is love, there is emotion. Here in this nowhere, they dream of the ocean. Here in this nowhere, there is everything.

They get to the ocean the next day, cold water, warm sand, and Trevor stands in the tide, arms around the ones he loves, moving with the push and pull and lapse. He laughs, head tossed back, hair fading fast, and everything comes crashing together like a train crash. This is what he needs, this is what he needed, and his blood rushes like the white capped waves, echoing in his ears. It is beautiful and it is freeing.

They eat leftover fruit for dinner on the beach, setting sun highlighting the ocean and sky alike the same blood orange that they hold in their hands.

“I don’t think I ever want to be without you two again.” Jeremy can not imagine a day without Matt and Trevor and everything that comes with them, the persistent calm, the tap, tap, tapping. “You should move in, Trevor.”

“Okay.” A ghost of a smile plays at Trevor’s lips and juice drips onto his hand. “Mrs. Beasley will be so happy that she gets to keep my plants, they won’t fit in your apartment.”

“Not Ferdinand, though. Right?” Matt checks and Trevor shakes his head.

“I couldn’t leave them behind, of course not.” Trevor looks out over the ocean, the bleeding horizon, and back to the rising night. “I love you two.” It is perfection.

Trevor moves his things in once they get back and Ferdinand, dear Ferdinand, gets a place of honour in the kitchen window. It is comfortable.

And weeks later it is storming, gods’ unholy fury raining outside, and Trevor sweeps into the apartment, wet and dripping and clutching his chest.

“Are you okay?” Matt asks, handing him a towel. “Didn’t get struck by lightning?”

“I’m good.” Trevor smiles. “I’m fine.” He takes the towel and starts to rub his hair dry, one hand still at his chest, the lump underneath his rain coat.

“What do you have?” Jeremy asks, tilting his head, and Trevor looks sheepish.

“Okay, look, you have to promise not to be mad at me.” A boom of thunder claps and the lights flicker. A kitten pops its head up from Trevor’s coat meowing.

“Where did you find a cat?” Matt asks, taking it into his arms quickly. “God, it’s adorable.”

“It was in an alley and I couldn’t leave it, okay? And we might have to keep it.” Trevor says.

“God, did you name it already?” Jeremy rolls his eyes, rubbing the cat’s head with his knuckles.  
“Um, maybe?” Trevor offers and the cat sneezes, drops of water flicking from its whiskers. These three grown men can not fucking resist cats, it’s their greatest weakness, and they all coo. “Her name is Joshua.” There are a few beats of silence.

“Okay, but that’s oddly perfect.” Matt says and the small tabby sneezes again. “Christ, please stop.” Joshua sneezes again and Matt resigns from his efforts. 

“She is adorable and I want Scooter to love her. Scooter will love her.” Jeremy promises and Scooter does love her, in an odd ‘I love you, but stay away’ kind of way.

The next day her footsteps get sampled in one of Trevor’s songs, so she really is part of the mismatched hodgepodge of a family that they have.

It’s kind of perfect, the three of them and the two cats and Ferdinand and the really nice curtains that Jeremy found at a thrift store and they have strawberries all over them and they’re actually surprisingly cute.

“Do we have anything going on tonight?” Jeremy wonders, sun falling through the strawberry curtains.

“Some people I know are throwing a party.” Trevor offers, scrolling through his phone with a flick of his fingers. “If you want to go to that.”

“I’m down. What about you, Matt?” They both turn to look at Matt, who is wrapped in a quilt with Joshua in his lap and looks like the absolute opposite of a party-going person.

“I mean, sure, if you guys want to.” Matt says. “It might be cool.”

The lights are flashing at the party, flashing rainbows thrown onto the wall in sync with the music. The music shakes the walls and everyone is moving around them.

“Do you want to dance?” Trevor asks, tapping Jeremy’s shoulder.

“Sure.” Jeremy nods, taking Trevor’s hand. “You coming with, Matthew?”

“Uh, no.” Matt whistles lowly. “Absolutely not. I dance like an absolutely white person. I’m going to go get a drink.” Jeremy laughs and Trevor drags him off into the crowd. Matt stands awkwardly, fingers tap, tap, tapping against the leg of his jeans out of sync with the songs, before making his way through the constant motion of people to find the kitchen.

There’s a group of girls draped across the kitchen table, laughing slowly, hair tangling together, moving sluggishly through the stuffy air. Matt takes a bottle of water from the counter and one of the girls looks at him.

“Hi.” She draws out the ‘i’, smiling widely. “You’re cute.”

“Uh, thank you?” Matt offers, unsure of what to do in a situation like this. 

“Mhm, yeah.” She smiles at him, showing just enough of her teeth to be slightly on the creepy side. “Why aren’t you out dancing? I’m sure someone asked you.”

“I mean, my boyfriends asked me, but I don’t dance.” Matt says, quickly, because he doesn’t dance, he can only slow dance and even that takes immense amounts of concentration and silent step counting.

“Sure, sure. Why don’t you eat something, get more comfortable.” She pushes a red ceramic plate of brownies towards him. “And then you can go join your boyfriends in the dancing. They’ll love to have you, I’m sure.”

And then twenty minutes later, everything is significantly louder and yet it all sounds like it’s barely underwater. Everything is moving, throbbing with the bass line, and Matt feels like he’s melting as he tries to find Jeremy and Trevor. He stumbles and falls into Jeremy’s arms.

“Hey.” Jeremy smiles down at him. “You decided to come join us?”

“Yeah, babe.” Matt grins upwards. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Is it hot in here? I think it’s hot in here. Oh my God, Trevor!”

“What?” Trevor looks slightly amused, a small smile on his lips. 

“Your hair is purple!” With Matt’s words, Trevor laughs and pulls Matt up to his feet.

“Are you high?” Trevor asks and Matt shakes his head, quickly.

“Don’t do drugs, don’t like them, no, no, no.” Matt furrows his eyebrows, thinking. “A really nice girl gave me a brownie, though. She was really nice. She had cool hair, too.”

“Sure, sure, she did.” Trevor takes Matt’s hand. “C’mon, high kid, we should probably go home.”

“He’s actually high?” Jeremy asks, taking Matt’s other hand. “But he’s always fervently said that he wouldn’t do drugs.”

“Accident, probably.” Trevor shrugs. “It happens to a lot of people, y’know. We should really go home in case he reacts badly to it, though.” So, with a bit of trouble, they strap Matt safely into their car and drive him home, listening to him talk about how it’s so sad that dogs can’t see all the colours, do they even know what beauty is? Matt nearly falls down the stairs twice, but Jeremy manages to catch him both times. When Matt is finally, finally underneath approximately six blankets in their bed, a serious look comes over his face.

“Trevor.” Matt grabs Trevor’s sleeve, pulling him closer until Trevor can feel Matt’s soft breath on his face and Matt’s eyes are flickering everywhere, unable to focus. “Trevor, you know people.”

“I do.” Trevor agrees. “I know at least two people.” Matt nods.

“Yeah, Mrs. Beasley and Ferdinand, of course, but let me finish. You know people that do music and music-ish things. You should get someone to help record an EP for Jeremy. He can do it, he’d be good, everyone needs a white boy rapper, we can’t live on just Eminem anymore.”

“God, I hate you.” Jeremy breathes, rolling his eyes.

“Sure, yeah, anything for you two.” Trevor promises. “Now go the fuck to sleep.”

And thoughts of the night before and what happened are drowned at breakfast with black coffee and eggs and Matt’s repeated mantra of ‘What have I done?’. All in all, it’s not the worst party that any of them have been to, and the promise of Jeremy’s album is forgotten and swept under the rug.

It’s brought up two weeks later when Trevor waltzes into the living room with a newspaper under his arm. There’s been a dispute lately over newspapers, Matt thinks they’re useless, Trevor loves how they feel, cheap paper, cheap ink, cheap people, and Jeremy won’t stop joking about how it’s tearing their family apart. 

“You busy today, Jeremy?” Trevor asks, shaking the newspaper in Matt’s face as he sits on the arm of Matt’s chair.

“Not at all. Why? You’ve got another road trip ready for us?” Jeremy smiles and he’s joking, but he loved the road trip, it was such a short time, it bleeds together in his memories, the only clear things Trevor and Matt and the ocean and the oranges and the love. He wants to go, to run with his boys, to do it again, but he doesn’t want to jeopardize the experience.

“Hm, no. We’ll go on another one before Christmas, though, I promise.” Trevor peers over the top of his newspaper and Jeremy can see the smile in his eyes. “Thought we could go downtown, record a few of your songs for an EP.”

“Wait, really?” Jeremy’s words are rushed and his tongue is tied. “How did you even do that? How many people do you know?”

“Yes, really. And I know enough people to have connections.” Trevor puts down his paper on top of Matt’s head. “You down?”

“Of course!” Jeremy grins. “That’s so fucking awesome!”

“That is pretty cool.” Matt admits, taking the paper of of his head and beginning to ball it up. “As soon as you leave, I’m burning this.”

That doesn’t happen, though, because Matt ends up going with them both and Trevor and Matt watches as Jeremy raps in the soundproof booth, hearing it through the speaker, and Matt is taken back to that first night in the street with Jeremy and everything else about that night and the coat, the green coat with the brass buttons that Trevor is wearing and smiling and smiling. Matt leans against Trevor, grinning, and Trevor’s fingers are tap, tap, tapping against Matt’s wrist, he gets such a rush from music and Jeremy’s music is so good. He loves this, he loves Jeremy, he loves Matt, there is nothing in this scene that he doesn’t love and he is full to the bursting and he can feel Matt’s heartbeat through his fingers, stronger than his own and so out of sync and so perfect, there is nothing he loves more than this.

When Jeremy finally gets out of the recording booth there is laughter and hugs and the more laughter and gentle kisses and arms around each other. They get ice cream in the warm dark of the blurry unreality that seems to be the fabric of the night in this city, sitting on wooden picnic tables, ignoring the threat of splinter pinpricks and spots of blood. 

They walk home and everything falls together, blends together, and they are drunk on each other, they are each so intoxicating, how could they not be? They’re in their apartment with the glow-in-the-dark stars that got stuck on the ceiling and wandering hands and wandering gazes and wondering eyes and beauty in the darkness, in Matt’s slow breathing, in Trevor’s quick fingers, in Jeremy’s faster pulse, and it’s cold in the apartment, but none of them care right now in this perfect night, perfect sight, imperfect vision in the darkness and the feeling of the wandering hands and Trevor’s fingers tap, tap, tapping against bare skin.

It’s been approximately a month since Jeremy recorded his EP and it is dawn, plum purple mixing with pink in the sky, colours bleeding together in swaths and swatches, and Matt wakes up in his bed, tangled sheets, tangled hair, missing one person, the lack of heat odd now that he has grown so used to it. He rolls over, further entrapping himself in the sheets, and pushes against Jeremy’s shoulder in the sleepy haze that blankets the city like the fog that hangs onto the panes of windows and the spires of the skyscrapers. 

“Do you hear that?” Matt whispers, he’s talking in the quiet voice he only uses during the dawn, and there are noises echoing through the apartment, blurred and only slightly audible. Jeremy blinks the sleep from his eyes.

“Yeah.” The bedroom is dark except for a small patch of light spilling from the hallway through the cracked door. Jeremy blinks again. “It’s got to be Trevor, right? Process of elimination, maybe?”

“It could be Joshua or Scooter.” Matt argues, how can he argue when his voice is so soft? “Don’t be speciesist.”

“You’re horrible and I hate you and I love you.” Jeremy kisses Matt’s cheek, gently, lightly. “Now, are we actually going to see what the noise is or are we just going to let it be a mystery?”

“Fine, yes, let’s go.” They’re talking as if this is a great expedition and not a short walk into another room. Matt unwraps the sheets from around his legs and together, he and Jeremy make their way down the hallway, walking softly in sock feet over the floorboards. 

The living room is much lighter, all the curtains drawn to the edges, light pouring in at every opportunity it can seize, Trevor’s three new succulents are lined up against the window sill, soaking up the sun. And then there is Trevor, sitting with his back towards the both of them at Matt’s grand piano, and he is playing, plucking out slow notes, and he is singing, voice high in the quiet of the early morning.

“There is no reason, but there is reasoning behind everything I do.” Trevor sings, pressing keys, and it’s a bird-like type of beautiful, frail and lovely. Jeremy’s breath catches in his throat, he wants to make no noise, he can’t interrupt Trevor. “And you might not think this, but I do everything for you.” It’s oddly alluring, a siren’s call in this loud, loud city, island in metropolis, and Trevor is exactly perfect in the cloud filtered light. “And when everything clicks, there will be things that we cannot fix. Breathe in, breathe out, turn off the light. Breathe in, breathe out, it is so dark tonight, but I will suffer through to watch the dawn with you. And we are nowhere, and you are my everything. And there is something in your eyes I just can’t place.” Trevor hits a wrong key, discordant noise ringing through the apartment, harsh noise in the soft dawn. “Ah, fuck.”

“That’s not how you play a C major.” Matt says, shattering everything in the moment, and Trevor turns around, looking at them both as Matt walks over. “You do it like this.” He places Trevor’s fingers on the right keys and presses down, lightly. Trevor smiles, pastel happiness and airy light in his face.

“That was really good, Trevor.” Jeremy compliments, hanging in the doorway as if he doesn’t want to enter the scene himself. “Really. I like it a lot.” Trevor looks sheepish, a blush rising on his cheeks that matches the pink of the sky outside the windows.

“I’m, uh, I’m glad you think so.” Trevor pushes his hair out of his face and it falls right back to where it was. “I took your advice, Matt. This is going to be on the next album I do, mostly singing stuff. Or that’s what it looks like right now, at least.”

“It sounds so good.” Matt smiles, Trevor smiles back, he seems so happy, so not stressed while talking about an album which, for him, is an amazing feat. “How many songs have you written out?”

“Uh, maybe nine?” Trevor offers. “I’ve got a few more fragments scattered around in notebooks that I’m probably going to roll into another few songs. I’m honestly looking forward to it. Just, like, creative liberty, y’know? I’m excited.”

“I bet you are.” Jeremy winks and Trevor rolls his eyes, his fingers once again drumming across the top of the piano. “If you ever need someone to play the trumpet, hit me up, man.”

“Jeremy, I think you’re forgetting that I also play the trumpet. And Matt.” Trevor adds, smiling. 

“Matt is going to be busy playing the piano and you will be singing.” Jeremy points out, literally pointing from Matt to the piano and then back to Matt. “You can’t separate those two. Either one of them will die or they both will and I’m not entirely sure what a dead piano looks like, but I’m not exactly keen on finding out.”

“You’re more worried about the piano than you are about me?” Matt shakes his head in faux offense, clicking his tongue in disappointment. “Wow, I should have known. Who am I to compare to a piano with ivory keys and maple boards? Woe is me, a piano has stolen the love of my life.”

“No need to go all Shakespeare.” Trevor laughs in the dawn, soft morning laugh in soft morning light. “You’ll still have me.”

“What a Shakespeare life we have though, right?” Jeremy asks and Matt shrugs, he doesn’t completely understand what Jeremy is getting at. “I mean, this could be a Shakespeare story. There’s enough drama and it’s interesting. We’re all music kids and we literally kissed for the first time in a thunderstorm. Outside. Underneath a tree. Matt accidentally did drugs. C’mon, guys, you can’t tell me that you don’t see this!”

“Aren’t you forgetting the part where we’re all kind of unreasonably gay?” Trevor smirks. “Shakespeare loved gay things.”

“Did he, though?” Jeremy questions, finally entering the room and leaning against the piano. “I thought that was kind of frowned upon.”

“Achilles had a male lover.” Matt supplies, finally weighing in on the conversation. “And some of his sonnets were originally addressed to a man. Also, the whole cross-dressing thing.”

“Wasn’t that because women weren’t allowed in theatre?” Jeremy asks. “That’s just another period thing, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but no.” Matt admits. “Yes, every character was played by a man, but there’s also a play where a woman dresses as a man and another woman falls in love with her dressed as the man.”

“Sounds cute.” Trevor says, brushing his hand over Matt’s in the slightest touch. “But I think we’re missing the biggest reason why we couldn’t be a Shakespeare writing. Jeremy, you said a story, but Shakespeare didn’t write stories, he wrote plays. We couldn’t be in a play because of the reasons you listed a minute ago. Yeah, we kissed in a storm in a park, how would that translate to the stage? We have too many settings to be in a play, which is good. Couples need variety and we’ve got a lot of that.”

“Nerd.” Jeremy murmurs, ruffling Trevor’s hair. 

Everything is good, nothing has ever been better, and this is all that the three have ever wanted, even though they make jokes about how they only stick around for the cats and Ferdinand. They fall more and more in love with every passing day, it’s a trap that they can’t get out of and honestly, they aren’t even trying. There could be a rope lying right next to them and they’d just throw it both ends out of the pit so they couldn’t climb up. They are happy where they are, they have never been happier, and it’s everything that they need. 

“You busy for the next two weeks?” Trevor asks in the early morning, pale light in rectangles on the wall, the city noises drifting in from the open windows. Jeremy drops the plate he’s holding and turns toward where Trevor is balancing precariously on a kitchen stool. 

“No! No, we’re not busy!” Jeremy says, pulling his phone out quickly and scrolling through something. “Nope! Just as I thought, not busy.”

“Did you just… Did you say we weren’t busy before knowing? And did you check our group calendar?” Trevor asks, smiling and tipping even further back on the stool. Matt shakes his head, Trevor is being incredibly unsafe right now. 

“Maybe. And maybe.” Jeremy looks too happy to be sheepish, like a puppy with unbridled energy.

“My friend is getting married in a few days, I thought we could fly out.” Trevor says and Jeremy wilts, slightly. Matt looks questioningly at Trevor, who is once again leaning too far back on the kitchen stool. Jeremy starts picking up the breakfast dishes from the table again. “Nah, I’m kidding. I thought we could go on another road trip, it’s been a few months.” Jeremy drops another plate.

“Please stop telling him things, Trevor, we’re going to lose all of our dishes.” Matt complains, but he’s smiling. “Where are we going this time?”

“I was thinking Canada, I’d like to see some snow.” Trevor smiles at Jeremy, who mirrors his grin. “You guys up for it?”

“Yes!” Jeremy nearly shouts. He grabs Matt’s hand and starts to pull him down the hallway. “We’re going to pack! We’ll leave as soon as we’re done.”

Approximately seventeen minutes later, they bundle into the car, their home and plants and cats left to the nice, new couple who live in the next apartment over. Trevor takes the driver’s seat, fingers tap, tap, tapping, that familiar rhythm onto the vinyl, small noises clashing with the indie songs from one of Jeremy’s many CDs in the player as Trevor turns onto the highway. Jeremy always gets CD privileges, mainly because of that one time where Matt wouldn’t stop playing Mozart in an attempt to annoy Trevor, so the next day Trevor introduced them to the joys of dubstep. They made a joint decision that Jeremy should be in charge of all the car music so they could avoid another conflict.. Also, Jeremy probably has the most likeable music taste in the world, it usually has some violins and synth beats and it’s just a nice blend. Unlike Jeremy’s favourite coffee, the blend is horrible, he isn’t allowed to buy coffee for the apartment anymore.

The highway is never ending, a streak of black and yellow in the green landscape, dull in the middle of colour, and they drive onwards, farther and farther north. The sky above gets grayer and grayer and fat raindrops like tears bounce off of their car. 

They stop in a small town in Washington, running inside of a small diner as the rain pelts down. They stop inside, laughing, and water drips from Matt’s eyelashes down his cheeks.

“This is pretty.” Jeremy says, looking around. The diner is old fashioned, chrome and checkered tablecloths and a jukebox in the far corner and completely empty except for the girl at the counter.

“Hey.” She greets, beckoning them over a she towels off the countertop. “Haven’t seen you three around before.”

“We’re passing through.” Trevor smiles, touching Jeremy’s shoulder lightly. “Road trip to Canada and all that jazz.”

“Please no jazz.” Matt shudders and thunder booms outside, the streetlights casting islands of yellow light into the standing rainwater. 

“Jazz is reasonably disgusting.” Jeremy agrees, shrugging, and slipping his hand into Matt’s. The girl smiles.

“I get that. What do you want?” She asks, gesturing upwards to the counter board that hangs above them. They give her their to go orders, quickly and she nods, taking it down on a small notepad. “You two should go wait in the car, warm it up. When tall guy here has to run through the rain with your food again, he’ll appreciate it.” Matt nods.

“Yeah, sure. Thank you!” Trevor and the girl watch as Jeremy and Matt run through the torrent outside, nearly slipping a couple of times.

“What’s your name?” The girl asks, rummaging through something behind the counter and pulling out a few, small pie boxes. “I’m Allison.”

“Nice to meet you, Allison. I’m Trevor.” Trevor smiles and the lights flicker, Allison pausing in her work just long enough to glare at the lamps around the diner.

“Are you tapping that?” Allison asks, tilting her head towards his car outside. “Because if you’re not, you should. You’re, like, totally in love with them, I’m pretty sure anyone that looks at you three for half a second can see that.” Trevor blinks, stunned. “Uh, I’m sorry, that was out of line.”

“No, no!” Trevor shakes his head, quickly. “It’s fine, really. You’re just very open, I guess, about something not a lot of people would be.”

“Polyamory?” A smile ghosts on Allison’s lips. “Yeah, I know. My girlfriends love it.” Trevor chuckles. “But, really. You should tap that. Like, find a motel, I don’t care. But tap that.”

“Those are my boyfriends.” Trevor says, chuckling. “I think it’s safe to say that I’m, as you put it, ‘tapping that’.” Allison grins outright.

“I’m glad, you guys are cute.” She pushes three of the small boxes across the counter towards Trevor. “And you have way, way too much pining for those two.”

“I love them.” Trevor offers, pulling out his wallet. Allison shakes her head.

“On the house, Trevor. Go enjoy your trip with your boyfriends.” Thunder cracks outside and the rain pounds down more heavily than it had before. “You should go before your car floats away.” So, Trevor bids her goodbye and runs out to the car where Jeremy and Matt are waiting for their pie. Jeremy has taken the driver’s seat and Matt the passenger, so Trevor slides into the back.

“She was really cute.” Trevor hands them their pie slices. “Like, really nice. She thought that I was pining for you two and told me to, and I quote, ‘tap that’.”

“You better be pining for me.” Matt mutters, unwrapping his pie insanely quickly. “I don’t date people who aren’t pining for me twenty four seven, like really though.”

“Whatever, loser.” Jeremy rolls his eyes and the car rolls slowly onto the road. “As if anyone couldn’t pine for you. I mean, it’s been a little harder since you cut your hair, but it’s nothing Trevor and I can’t cope with.”

They end up pulling into a nearly empty motel parking lot, vacancy light flickering in hot neon pink. They get a look from the lady behind the counter as they request a single-bed room, but it’s nothing they’re not used to, even if it does make them uncomfortable.

The motel is dingy, paper white walls and stained, grey curtains covering the one small window that overlooks the parking lot, but at least they can watch their car and make sure it doesn’t get stolen. The comforters are scratchy, horribly thick and choking in the stale air, it isn’t too long before they’re thrown across the room in a small fit of fury, they hit against the wall and curl onto the floor, oddly resembling a rat’s nest like the one that probably exists within the walls of this room. And there’s a cricket somewhere with it’s chirp, chirp, chirp, ringing out into the quiet.

But they have each other, and it’s definitely not the worst it could be because while there is definitely a rodent scrabbling in the walls, they don’t know for sure that it’s a rat's’ nest.

They leave early in the morning, creeping past the sleeping lady at the counter, who Trevor not so subtly fips off. The sky is streaked in oranges and pastels, highlighting the parking lot and the dim, dim single streetlight, and the sun is just rising over the horizons. 

They decide, as Matt drives, that they’re going to stop in Vancouver, just for a little while, enough to see a sunset and a sunrise because Jeremy thinks that it would be insanely pretty, light on the water, light on the city. All it takes is Jeremy’s word and the other two are in agreement, the other two are in love.

Matt drives and it is getting colder, even though it probably isn’t, it feels like it, and one of Jeremy’s queer jams CDs are in the player and it’s perfect road trip music for them and the guy in the tollbooth smiles at them and nods his head in time to the music as they cross the border from America to Canada.

Canada is beautiful with all of its trans rights bills and legal gay marriage before America and snow, they can’t see snow now, but they will, they hope so.

“This is so nice.” Jeremy breathes, face pressed up against the window, breath fogging the glass. “It’s so beautiful.”

“It’s literally a highway.” Matt laughs and Jeremy huffs.

“Maybe I like urbanity, okay? Leave me alone, I love Canada!” Jeremy laughs too, fingers tap, tap, tapping against the window.

“If you love it so much, why don’t you marry it?” Trevor snarks, feet propped up on the dashboard, head lolling over the edge of the seat, sunglasses crooked on his face, a photo that’s waiting to be taken. Jeremy admires him from the backseat, this god of a person.

“Gay marriage may be legal, but I don’t think you can marry a country here.” Jeremy answers and Trevor is probably rolling his eyes, but Jeremy can’t see through his shades. 

“If any of us get married, you two probably should.” Trevor says, his voice quiet, soft, he is thinking, analyzing the silence that follows his words.

“But, like, no?” Matt offers, very elegantly. “No. No! We can’t do that, it’d be unfair.”

“I don’t want to get married unless I can marry both of you.” Jeremy says and they lapse back into silence as everything blurs outside the car windows. 

Vancouver is beautiful, city on the water, reflections of the sky, and they sleep in a nicer motel, no rats, no bugs, flower print curtains, it’s nice and it’s small and Jeremy watches the sunset with his face pressed against the glass of the windows. That’s exactly how he watches the sunrise and Matt is kind of doubtful as to if Jeremy actually got any sleep at all. Probably not.

They get breakfast at this small place tucked away on an empty street and eat pancakes with Canadian maple syrup and have a debate about Canadian bacon between themselves and the guy at the counter keeps laughing at them. It’s alright, it’s comfortable.

They drive again and it’s a long time until they sleep. Everything blurs together as they pick their way to the coast, across bridges and backwater dirt roads and highways and streets.

This freezing beach is so much more different than the one back in California, it’s not seeping golden, not warm, it is so cold and so grey, clouds hang above them like goose down and they sit next to each other on the sand, huddled together, drinking coffee from cheap paper cups. It’s not California, there are no oranges, nothing will ever be California again, but this is Canada, there is coffee and cold, nothing will ever be Canada again. And that is perfect, perfectly fine. In this grey scene, devoid of colour, full of love, they sit and watch as the sea spray from the roiling ocean flings itself into the air. It is beautiful, it is unique, and it is everything that California was and it’s so, so different and everything that California wasn’t. 

They see snow on the drive home and Trevor makes them stop the car so they can stand in it. 

“I mean, it’s pretty.” Matt admits, white floats down from grey, grey sky and clouds.

“Of course it’s pretty, it’s snow.” Trevor answers and they stand there, snow falling in soft silence.

“We should go.” Jeremy’s voice is muffled in the landscape, it seems almost magical, but not quite, as if something is happening there that none of them know about, but they can all feel it and it chills their bones.

They drive home, smiling and laughing and talking and talking.

When the skyline of their city breaches their horizon, reaching into their vision, they relax, they are home, they are home, they are here. 

The average population of a city is twenty thousand people. What are the chances that in their city, in their own city, there were three that were all drawn to music in the same way, the fire in their chests, the noises in there heads? And what are the chances that these three, these fucking three, all found each other out of the other thousands of people that pass by each other on the streets without another glance, another thought? It was low, so fucking low, so improbable, so impossible, but these three, these fucking three, they are the type of people, of the twenty thousand people, they are the type of people to beat the odds.

**Author's Note:**

> ayy! this was fun, hope you liked it.  
> thanks to campcampbell and finalbosman on tumblr for actually providing the musician stream team prompt. i'm glad this is done, though. you can find me on tumblr at taptaptapping.tumblr.com  
> <3


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